


That one time Eren Jaeger shagged Commander Kirschtein silly over the desk in his office

by andreaphobia



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Desk, Desk Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot, Porn, Smut, commander jean, future old men, good at summaries, good at titles, irredeemable smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:46:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreaphobia/pseuds/andreaphobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In retrospect, he really should have seen it coming.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	That one time Eren Jaeger shagged Commander Kirschtein silly over the desk in his office

**Author's Note:**

> Because [THIS](http://fridaynightxylene.tumblr.com/post/76334805696/older-erejeans-over-the-table).
> 
> I'm good at titles. (Also summaries.)

 

 

In retrospect, he really should have seen it coming.

Two weeks without a moment to themselves, and nothing more important to occupy Jaeger’s time than screaming bloody murder at the cadets drill sergeant-style and making them run laps until they dropped dead from exhaustion. (Honestly, he’s more surprised that Eren even made it this long—his personality may have mellowed a bit over the years, but that sex drive of his sure hasn’t.)

Anyway, Jean’s big problem this time is that he’s just too complacent. Which is why, when Eren shows up at his office—unannounced, like always, with a big, shit-eating grin plastered across his face—Jean doesn’t even bother looking up.

“Not  _now_ , Jaeger,” he mutters, running a hand back through his hair in frustration, and then scrubbing at it wildly. “Got things to do.”

Eren gently shuts the door behind him. “I know how that is,” he says, all sweetness and sympathy. (By now, alarm bells are going off in Jean’s brain, but by now, it’s also far, far too late.) “Why don’t you take a little break, commander? Blow off some steam.”

The lock on the door clicks, and that is what gets Jean to finally look up.

“ _Jaeger_ ,“ he says, in warning, but Eren has already crossed the space from the door to his desk with an all-too-familiar gleam in his eye.

“C’mon,  _commander_ ,” Eren says, brightly. “Live a little, hey?”

Jean scowls at him. “I don’t think—“ he starts to say, standing up—which turns out to be a big mistake, because Eren’s there in a flash, seizing his arm and giving a good yank at the same time that he trips Jean up.

The end result is Jean flat on his stomach, sprawled across his desk, slightly winded and  _extremely_  annoyed. None of this, however, deters Eren, who climbs over him cheerfully, straddling his back and pinning him down with his body weight.

“And I was just wondering how to get you out of your chair,” he says, smirking.

Jean looks back over his shoulder and opens his mouth—probably to call Eren a very rude name—but anything he was about to say is swallowed up in a kiss. Hot, slick, and filthy-wet; just the way he likes them. He groans without meaning to, and then kicks himself internally, because he doesn’t want to give Jaeger the satisfaction of knowing just how badly he’s needed this.

Meanwhile, Eren’s tongue sweeps deftly through his mouth, almost tickling his tonsils and leaving him completely, utterly dazed.

After several torturous minutes of this, Eren finally pulls back—with one last affectionate bite to Jean’s kiss-swollen lower lip, as though for luck.

Very nearly gasping for breath, Jean mutters, “You’re a dirty—cheating—sonofabitch, Jaeger.” (Eren hasn’t touched him at all down there, but it doesn’t matter; he’s hard as a rock and aching for it anyway.)

“Yeah?” Eren grins, brushing fingertips casually over Jean’s lips, like he’s trying to seal that very-thoroughly-kissed look into them. His eyes have gone dark; dangerously hungry. “Well, you’re gonna be screaming this dirty cheating sonofabitch’s name pretty soon.”

And Jean thinks to retort with something witty like  _You wish, Jaeger_ , or maybe even a snide  _In your dreams_ , but Eren is on a roll, and not, it seems, in much of a listening mood. His hands are already at Jean’s belt, unbuckling it, unzipping his trousers, then dragging them down to his ankles in one go. Jean registers the sound of a drawer sliding open; when he looks back over his shoulder, it’s to discover Eren pulling out—from his own fucking desk drawer, no less!—a bottle of something he’s far more accustomed to seeing in the context of a kitchen.

“When the hell did you put  _that_  in there?” he mutters, steadying himself by gripping the sides of the desk. (He can’t decide whether to be disgusted or impressed by Eren’s amazing resourcefulness; at least, when it comes to getting laid.)

Eren only shrugs, grinning like he’s so fucking proud of himself. Apparently, it’s a secret. He slops the oil over his fingers, and yeah, some of it spills to the floor, but the fact that that’s going to be a pain to clean up later on drops to the bottom of Jean’s priorities when Eren shoves two slick fingers so far into him that he sees stars.

“ _Fuck_!” he yells, and then hopes the sound only echoed in his imagination. He grits his teeth, eyes closed, and tries to focus on the fine razor-edge of pleasure instead of the bitter sting. “Jesus fucking  _Christ_ , Jaeger, are you trying to kill me?!”

“Death by orgasm,” Eren says, and there’s a note of amusement in his voice that Jean would very much like to punch him for. He scissors his fingers roughly, dragging another truncated moan out of Jean, and then begins pistoning them rhythmically in and out. “Beats death by titan any day, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m putting you on cadet duty,” Jean rasps, “for the rest of your fucking  _life_.”

“Don’t say that,” Eren laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of Jean’s neck. Then he crooks his fingers just  _so_ , and Jean thrashes under him, lost to sensations which sear up his spine and across every nerve, whiting out his brain.

“I do like seeing you like this, commander,” Eren continues, in a murmur against Jean’s ear. Jean, too far gone for words, can only growl faintly—but the growl transforms into a harsh whimper as Eren does it again, hooking his fingers upwards in a come-hither motion that has Jean grinding himself desperately into Eren’s palm.

Seemingly satisfied with that, Eren withdraws his fingers, which leaves Jean with a weird sensation of emptiness. He swallows hard, trying not to lose himself in it; trying to hold on to the last shreds of control he has. From a distance, he hears the  _clunk_  of Eren’s belt hitting the floor; the metallic rasp of a zipper, and then a faint rustle of cloth.

Then Eren presses up behind him, and he barely has a moment to brace himself against the desk before Eren himself home, in one rough thrust that wrings another strangled curse from Jean’s raw throat.

“God  _damn_ ,” Eren murmurs, hoarsely, starting to move in earnest, and holding him so tight that Jean can imagine the pattern of finger-shaped bruises that will decorate his hipbones later. “You’re fucking  _beautiful_  like this, Kirschtein.”

“Shut, the, fuck, up,” Jean says—or attempts to say, between muffled gasps. He feels Eren’s mouth curving into a grin against the side of his neck, and wants to curse him out, but can’t find the breath to do so. The room is filled with the crude sounds of flesh slapping together and their ragged breathing. Every thrust forces the air out of his lungs, making him dizzy—which is a good thing, because otherwise he’d be a hell of a lot noisier, but he still has to bite down on his fist to muffle the grunts and moans which threaten to escape.

His other hand scrabbles across his desk, wildly. He knocks over an inkwell with a crash, and sends paper flying everywhere. Eren hikes one of his legs up; runs a tongue along his calf where the 3D gear has marked him and keeps on going, slamming Jean into the desk with each thrust like he’s trying to fuck Jean right through it.

Face down over what remains of his paperwork and being fucked to within an inch of his life, he can’t  _think_  anymore; can hardly even  _breathe_. His cheek scrapes against wood over and over again, back and forth, turning the flesh tender and raw. When Eren sinks teeth into the side of his neck, it’s too much—he yells, bucking wildly, and comes at last, so hard that he almost blacks out for a moment, jizzing in spurts across the floor and probably the side of his desk, too.

As for Eren, he doesn’t last much longer after that, not with the way Jean’s clenching around him. He mutters, “Jean,” and then, “oh fuck,  _Jean_ —!” and he’s gone, too; buried as deep within Jean as he can go and spilling himself there. (Jean, registering hot breath against his ear, turns his head back to meet Eren’s mouth and sucks on his tongue as he comes.)

For several long minutes afterwards, they remain where they are—Eren sprawled across Jean and still inside him; both of them boneless and perfectly sated.

It’s only when the warm stickiness starts to feel more like gross clamminess that Jean decides enough is enough, and finds his voice with a hoarse mutter of, “You’re crushing me, Jaeger.”

“Didn’t know you were that delicate,” Eren teases. But he tongues the side of Jean’s neck lazily, licking a hot stripe from shoulder to earlobe, before pulling himself out and then off.

Jean shudders at the feeling of that tongue caressing those tender bite marks, and then, in a daze, raises his head to look around.

His office is a complete and utter fucking mess. He sighs, dropping his head back to the desk with a quiet  _thunk_.

“Hope you enjoy your time with the new recruits,” he mutters. In a minute, he’ll get up and make himself presentable again… but right now, continuing to lie here in a post-coital heap seems like a really great idea.

An arm slipped under his chest tips him onto his back, and he’s too worn out to object. Eren leans down; rubs their noses together playfully, then kisses him—long, slow, and deep.

“You know I will,” Eren murmurs, grinning.

(And despite himself—despite everything—Jean can’t help but smile back.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are cherished! <3


End file.
